Monday, August 6, 2012

Sinnerman

A variety of maladies has left me somewhat unable to complete my planned entry on goals and incentives, which is coming. It is likely to be somewhat longer than my previous entries so is taking longer than is ideal.

Anyway. To tide you over, and because I always envisioned this blog this way, I present to you my long form poem "inspired by" Sinnerman that I wrote a few years ago. Linked is the version of the song I had on loop as I wrote this.

Sinnerman

There were four of them that winter
Who did embroil themselves in lust,
And pride, which cometh before all
Failings. There are no exceptions.

First we see The Piano Man,
Who was always an ‘also ran’,
Encouraged, not loved, by His Wife,
A woman consumed by herself.
Then, The Jealous Mariachi,
Who is not as yet important.
And lastly, alone in her room,
Is The Twist who loves many
For money, and is in turn loved
By those who seek her compassion,
Pouring tar over feathered chests
Beaten raw by grand displays.

Their intersection comes through ambivalence,
Compounded by the convenience
Of vows that can be broken,
But remain unrehearsed.
For as it is spoken,
That though
Mohammed may not go to the mountain,
A suitable mountain shall some day find him.

Thusly The Piano Man falls
From grace and from the limelight
Into The Twist’s timely arms.
Which suits The Jealous Mariachi
For he had long dreamt of the stage
That would set him apart
From The Piano Man,
Whom he had always despised.
Him and his little wife.

The plaudits rain like thunder
Upon The Jealous Mariachi
Endeavouring to ponder what comes next.
After reaching the high road
Does one go too far upon it,
Loading the pressures of successes even higher
Only to retire from public life
And their lurid gaze upon your skin:
Always wanting to get in and see what makes you tick.
And tock. That is no lot for him.
No.
There is only concession.
A one-night stand upon that stage
Before making way for the better craftsman,
Then slinking back in to darkness
With the ministrations of The Twist waiting
As they had when The Piano Man fell.

So now
The Piano Man does not give up so readily on his dreams
Of fame and fortune.
Tempo and blues.
So, then, his dream is not neglected, and thrives:
Reflected in his new rise to prominence and sensation.
Which pleases His Wife who had always wanted a richer husband,
Monetarily,
And would have gladly forgone the soul and been stolen away
Had one come calling, but no. Her dreams ran cold.

Of this The Piano Man knew nothing.
Atop his stool, facing away from those he enchanted,
All deeds were behind his back.

This was poignant, as The Jealous Mariachi
Had not reformed his hatred
Of The Piano Man,
Only muted it.
So he found His Wife and made her forlorn.
For The Jealous Mariachi knew many things,
He had met The Twist
And felt that sting of love for her,
As The Piano Man had earlier.
Now, then, His Wife began to mourn
For a marriage that had died
Or rather been stillborn, and miscarried.

Within the walls of The Piano Man’s own house,
Himself soon to be torn asunder from its roof,
He finds that apologies cannot mend
Any more than every word within them
Can be inspired by a greater and beautiful truth.

Where to then for this man cast into perdition?
His Wife having barred the doors to his abode,
Along with her affections.
The arms he knows are those of The Twist. So
He goes,
For many a man has run when no longer fit to crawl,
To find where The Twist lies
Only to find her doors closed, and solid.
He wonders whom she is who denies his entry,
This whore,
Who is on for young and old, he kicks
At the door. Before realising what he does
He kicks. Shuddering the foundations
He kicks. Interrupting her vocation
He kicks. Until the door splinters like his life,
He kicks.
Opening to find The Jealous Mariachi
With his wife, The Twist.

There is no salvation here,
Only fists.

Outside their fateful window winter descends,
While inside treaties are broken
Vases on the wearing carpet,
And circumstances conspire against The Jealous Mariachi
When a window breaks
For his fall, this time.
So then,
When The Twist follows
Out of both love and fear
The snow falls more softly than she does,
And shrouds the sound of solace, of solstice
(Half a day of night).